


Giddy Up, Quiznacker

by OnceandFutureWeeb



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, English Riding, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Horseback Riding, Horses, M/M, Western Riding, show jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 21:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12418830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceandFutureWeeb/pseuds/OnceandFutureWeeb
Summary: Keith loved horses, he really did.What he didn’t love was moving to a new town and a new stable.Especially the part where he’s forced to spend time with an annoying show jumper who insists that western riding is outdated.And the part where his new neighbors are probably clinically insane.And when his cousin, Shiro, gave him an unreasonably early curfew.This is the story of how Keith’s life became a wreck,And how he fixed it.





	Giddy Up, Quiznacker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1: In which Keith’s life is a mess and Shiro is literally the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so exited about this! I’m screaming with happiness and overflowing with anxiety at the same time. It’s a strange feeling.

If Takashi Shirogane starts a sentence with “we need to talk,” you can’t get away. You’re having a meaningful heart-to-heart discussion with him, like it or not. Unfortunately for Keith, he had underestimated Shiro’s persistence.

Keith had dragged a dresser in front of his bedroom door, sealing it closed.  
There’s no possible way he can get through this, he thought. No possible way, no possible-  
“KEITH KOGANE!”  
Shiro’s stern voice rang out from the hallway.  
“YOU BETTER OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT. NOW.”  
Keith began quickly looking for the most convenient method of escape. His eyes fell on the window.

“Parkour god, help me now,” he whispered to himself. He wrapped his hands around a curtain rod right inside his window, and swung Tarzan-style to the closest tree. Rushing to climb down, he tripped over the lowest branch, landing face-first in mulch and weeds. As he began to get his bearings, he noticed that his red shirt was torn and smudged with dirt. That was definitely take ages to get out.  
Crap.  
The front door opened, revealing a very menacing and very angry Shiro.  
CRAP.

The man used his good arm to sling a wriggling Keith over his shoulder, carrying him inside the house and dumping him in an armchair. He tugged a moving box over and sat down facing Keith, who looked at him with an expression of both terror and defeat. The time had come for a Shiro Talk.

“Keith, you know I love you.”  
The conversation was already off to a bad start. Keith shuffled uncomfortably in the seat, itching for a way out. However, Shiro had all exits blocked off and murder wasn’t really an option at the moment.  
“As your cousin and legal guardian, I feel obligated to talk to you about these sorts of things.”  
Keith glanced out the window, choosing to fix his eyes on a robin instead of the soul-piercing eyes of his cousin.  
Shiro snapped his fingers, getting Keith’s attention. He placed a hand on his little cousin’s shoulder.  
“Keith, you love riding. I know that you do. I see your face when you’re riding and that’s when you’re happy. You rode back in Utah, what makes West Virginia any different? The stable here is supposed to be excellent.”

“Shiro,” Keith fretted. “I knew the people there! I don’t know anyone here at all... and... I don’t know if I... I just don’t know. What if I won’t be able to bond with a horse at the new stable the way I was with Ares? I only ever rode him and-“  
Shiro placed a finger to Keith’s mouth, shutting him up.

“You’re overthinking this. You’re good with horses, we both know it. You’ll find one you’ll bond with. I know you’re not the best with people, but no one is saying that you have to make friends right away. You can take as much time as you need.”  
Keith knew that this was a situation where he was not getting his way, no matter what he argued. He sighed, letting his shoulders fall as he gave in.

“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll give it three sessions. If I don’t like it, we move back to Utah.”  
Shiro rolled his eyes.  
“If you don’t like it, we find something else for you to do.”

Keith frowned, giving in to his cousin. (Like he had a choice.) He trudged upstairs and into his room. Shiro had gotten into it somehow, even with a dresser in the way and one arm missing. Keith managed to drag the dresser into its usual place. Then he plopped onto his bed face-down, burying his head into his pillow and screaming as loud as he could without Shiro hearing and running up to save him from a presumed bear attack. He rolled off his bed and stood up, training his focus on the cardboard boxes that littered his room. Opening them, he pulled out his remaining belongings.

The last thing he pulled out was his riding helmet. It was shiny and new-looking, due to him only wearing it when Shiro absolutely insisted. He ran his thumb over the brim. His warped reflection stared back at him, staring at him. Mocking him.

Keith let out a sigh of frustration, placing the helmet on a shelf and sitting in a leather office chair to sulk. He glanced at a framed photo on his desk, a picture of him and Ares. He had placed his stereotypical cowboy hat on the horse’s nose, who had attempted to have it as an afternoon snack. Shiro had viewed that as the perfect photo opportunity. The Keith in the photo was different from who he was now. That Keith wore a smile that reached all the way up his face, making his eyes twinkle with something he hadn’t felt in a while: happiness. Sure, he was content, but happiness was a different feeling altogether. To him, happiness was Ares. It was the dry Utah wind in summer. It was riding with his friends.

Here, he would never have a horse like Ares. He would never know a stable like Marmora. He would never have a coach like Kolivan, a friend like Ulaz, a rival like Rolo. This state, the town of Erus Springs, West Virginia, didn’t have a Nyma to boss him around or a Varkon to watch over the horses in the middle of the night. There was no Blaytz with his huge Clydesdale, no Trigel pushing the boundaries of how fast her thoroughbred could go, no Gyrgan nursing his injured Appaloosa back to health. There was no yearly Marmora Rodeo, and the chaos that followed.

This wasn’t Utah. This was uncharted territory, and he hated uncharted territory. It gave him a stomachache.

The climate was taking a serious toll on his well-being. Keith already felt the effects of the humidity: the way he felt like the air had latched on to his body, the way his skin stuck to the leather of his chair if he didn’t wear long pants. It had rained more in the two weeks they had lived there than most of the months back in Utah. Everywhere he looked he saw green. The forests were dense, leaves wide and vibrant, fanning out like umbrellas, fitting for the precipitation levels. (Okay, the rain wasn’t that bad, but compared to what he was used to? Keith might as well start building an ark.) At the very least, he could appreciate that the outdoors weren’t trying to grill him dry, but being slowly boiled like an oyster was almost just as bad.

He gazed out the window onto the neighborhood. Of course Shiro bought a house in a cul-de-sac. That was so like him. He had hated their small desert farmhouse, constantly complaining about the lack of nearby people and the fact that it was practically falling apart. (The final decision to move was made when it finally did fall apart.) Keith, on the other hand, hated the suburbs. Too many judgmental white people for his taste. The car in the driveway across the street had several stickers on the back declaring the owner’s distaste for “evil liberals”, expressed through several slurs. Keith’s rainbow flag was yet to be hung up, but he considered blatantly “airing it out” outside his window just to peeve them. 

His other neighbors across the street had little kids that he had never met—Shiro gushed about how sweet they were— and their mom looked like an overly passionate PTA mom. They even had a minivan with a little stick family on the back. Stereotype much?

Keith hadn’t formally met the neighbors on the other side of his house yet, but they were his last hope for finding people that he at least wouldn’t loath with a boiling passion. The parents looked nice enough. The kids looked about his age or Shiro’s, and he had only seen them outside for more that three seconds once: chasing each other around the front yard because apparently the taller one had implied that Pokemon was better than something called “You-Gee-Oh,” and the shorter one called him a furry, whatever that meant. They were loud and somewhat strange, but Keith could go for something like that. It reminded him of Utah.

Keith stood up before throwing himself onto his bed dramatically, burying himself in the comfort of his red quilt like a distressed Disney princess. A couple tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes, soaking into the quilt, a manifestation of pent-up anxieties. Laying there, he slowly drifted off to sleep, despite it being about noon.

He woke hearing laughter from the first floor. Covers wrinkled as he sat up, half-expecting to see the pale, poster-covered walls of his room in Utah. He had still hoped that the whole ordeal was some sort of twisted nightmare that played on his greatest fears. Unfortunately, he was met with dark grey walls and a window displaying the green leaves of a tree instead of a seemingly endless desert.

Letting out a long groan, he pulled his hair back with an elastic. He was not in the mood to deal with bedhead tangles today. The laughing echoed in the house again. Keith straightened his shirt and walked down the stairs. 

Shiro was sitting at their kitchen table, talking to someone that seemed familiar... it was one of the parents from next door. He had grey hair, no doubt because of his kids, and glasses with tape holding the two sides together. Wrinkles littered his face, but in a strange way that made him seem more approachable. Like a grandma about to feed you cookies, or something. Shiro turned, noticing the presence of his cousin, who gave a small wave. 

“Keith!” he exclaimed. “Come meet Mr. Holt!”  
Keith took a seat at the table, visibly uncomfortable. Mr. Holt stretched out his hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Keith!” he greeted, smiling. “Shiro has told me so much about you!” Keith smiled, trying to not look awkward and failing. He glanced at Shiro... who was beaming. He was smiling in that way. The way that said “I know something that Keith doesn’t know and he is not going to be happy about it.” The last time he had that look, he was telling Keith that he set him up with a boy from his school. (Which ended in chaos and a literal dumpster fire. Shiro has horrible taste.)

“Keith~” Shiro said teasingly. Keith could hear the “you’re doomed” in his tone.  
“You will never believe what I found out! Guess what Mr. Holt’s kids do!”  
Keith went white. If Shiro said what he thought he was gonna say then-  
“Horseback riding!”

He was dead. He was truly, utterly dead. Next thing you know, Shiro will have them all handcuffed t one another around a campfire singing koombayah.

Mr. Holt was smiling wide, hands open and posture warmth. Keith was trying to contemplate hating him when he spoke up. “I heard you’re starting at Altea soon! That’s where my son and dau- I mean child go! I sure hope you’re open minded. My kids can be... very public about their identities.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I’m open-minded.”  
Shiro chuckled, no doubt remembering the various times he had been called into the principals office to discuss Keith’s “behavioral problems,” which mostly consisted of punching anyone who teased him for being gay.

“Oh man,” Mr. Holt cheered, stretching his arms. “Pidge is going to love you! I can tell already.”  
Keith looked at him quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s a Pidge?”

“My youngest,” the man answered, “They recently came out as non-binary. Pidge has been their nickname for years, so it just kind of stuck and now nobody  
calls them anything else.” He looked as if he was recalling a fond memory. (At least it wasn’t like Keith’s coming out… turns out even very small fireworks can’t be set off indoors.)

Shiro smiled at Keith knowingly, who scowled back in return. Their neighbor stood.  
“Shiro, I must thank you for having me over. It’s been a pleasure meeting you and Keith. I hope to see you both at the stable soon!”

They shook hands. The man looked like he was caught off-guard by Shiro’s prosthetic, but he quickly adjusted and waved as he left.  
Keith’s cousin turned to him with a sly smile.  
“So, Keith,” he smirked, “Looks like you’ll have some riding friends!”

Violet eyes rolled as he leaned back in his chair, a lot more relaxed without strangers in the house.  
“I mean, they seem nice enough.”

Shiro sighed. “That’s a relief, because his kids are going to be there when we tour the stable tomorrow. By the way, we’re touring tomorrow!” He looked like an overly-enthusiastic camp counselor, the way he gave his little cousin a cheery thumbs-up.  
That earned a loud grown from Keith, who just wanted to be left alone and not be dragged to a strange place with people and horses who would probably hate him. 

He felt an arm around his shoulder and looked up to see his cousin’s beaming face. Oh no. He always did this when Keith was noticeably tense. He started to sing.  
“Don’t worry! Be ha-“

Keith threw a gloved hand over his lips, mouthing “don’t you dare” before dashing as far away from Shiro as humanly possible: his room. He could hear the song being finished all the way from the second floor and mentally sentenced whoever wrote it to eternal damnation.

He threw his gloves across the room, not caring where they landed. Strongly considering another session of sulking in the comfort of his quilt, he rested on his bed. Hearing a small buzz, he noticed that phone had lit up on the bedside table and picked it up, glancing at the notification.

FaceTime Call: Ulaz

Smiling to himself, he hit “accept.” The faces of his friends stared back at him for the first time in what felt like forever. Nyma and Trigel only waved, but Ulaz, Blaytz, and Rolo yelled “Keith!” loud enough to shatter glass. Thank god he wasn’t wearing headphones. He smiled back at them. 

“Hey guys. What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Rolo replied. “Just beating every record you ever set!”  
Nyma elbowed him in the gut.  
“Liar,” she teased. “You haven’t even come close and you know it!”  
He frowned, mumbling under his breath.

Ulaz spoke next. “Hey Keith! Someone wants to say hello!” he turned the camera to reveal a sleek brown thoroughbred. Ares. He whinnied at the camera, almost as if he knew exactly who it was displayed on Ulaz’s phone. He probably did, Keith thought, knowing him.

Blaytz gave the horse a rub on the nose. “Yeah, K-bud. He misses you big time. Looks sad as hell whenever we walk in here without you.” The animal nodded, as if in response.

“So,” Trigel inquired, tossing her brown hair. “Have you been to your new stable yet?” Everyone else immediately looked interested. They all wanted to know, and were all thinking the same thing. Can’t be better than Marmora. Keith shared that sentiment. 

“No,” he answered. “I’m visiting tomorrow. Shiro insisted. Apparently some of my new neighbors go there, too. So, he’s forcing me to make friends. Whoop-de-do.” Sarcasm laced his voice as he rolled his eyes. The others laughed.

“Yeah,” Ulaz sighed. “That sounds just like him. But-“ Keith cringed at what he knew was coming next. “He only wants what’s best for you. He’s concerned. Wouldn’t you rather go into a new school year knowing some people from the stable rather than nobody at all?”

“As appealing as that sounds,” he replied, “I’d rather not know anyone. Ever. Besides, I don’t have the time. I’ve been doing other stuff.” That was a blatant lie, and he knew that they all knew it.

Trigel sighed. “At least tell me you’re doing your stretches. I haven’t found another parkour buddy yet, so whenever you visit we’re gonna scale every building in town and you better be ready.” She demonstrated by lifting one leg over her head. Keith laughed, setting his phone down and doing the same. Of course he had been doing his stretches, more than usual, in fact. It was either that or watch Say Yes to the Dress with Shiro. He only made the mistake of doing that once. Never again. 

Trigel clapped as Rolo cringed. “Dude, I have know idea how you do that. I can’t even lift my leg halfway.”

“Practice,” he replied, shrugging.

Off screen, a loud voice echoed in the Marmora barn.  
“Students! I said to turn the horses out, not chit chat!” It was Kolivan.

“Sorry, Keith, we have to go,” Ulaz said quickly. Keith didn’t even get to say goodbye before the video cut out. 

FaceTime Call Ended 

Keith was alone again. It wasn’t that bad. He was used to it by now. Parkour practice was actually sounding really good right now, considering it was late on a Saturday and he could hear the America’s Next Top Model theme blaring from the tv downstairs. He dropped his phone and rolled his shoulders. 

Keith opened the window and climbed onto the windowsill. This time he was aiming for his secret sanctuary, the roof. He often climbed up at night to stargaze, since it had a flat top. He had even fallen asleep up there quite a few times. The sun had set, after all, and no place was better for watching the stars and contemplating life choices.

He pulled himself up and climbed the slope until he reached the flat part. Then he walked a short distance to the edge and sat down, picking up the half-empty bag of salt and vinegar chips that he had left up there the day before, held down from the wind by a rock. Thankfully it hadn’t rained since, because he was hungry.

He was at peace, somewhat, listening to the sound of birds in the trees and eating chips, when something startled him.

“Hey!” someone yelled from the ground. “Why the hell are you on your roof?”

Keith jumped, nearly falling before catching his balance. Then he looked down. One of the Holt kids was staring up at him, their glasses reflecting the porch lights to the point where you couldn’t see what was behind them. They were short, with a caramel-colored mop of hair cut in a bob-like style. Their green hoodie looked too big for them, as did their shorts, which reached their knees. This must have been the youngest, the shorter one. The one who liked You-Gee-Ooh or whatever. What did their dad say their name was? Prisca? Peahen? Penguin? He decided that he didn’t care.

They repeated themselves. “Why are you on your roof?”

Keith responded with a shrug. “It’s nice up here.”

“You’re our new neighbor, right?” the kid yelled. “Come down!”

He assumed that he didn’t have a choice, having been a distant witness to his neighbor’s persistence before. Carefully, he jumped to a nearby tree, climbing down slower this time, making sure not to trip. His feet hit the ground, as opposed to his face. He was not repeating those mistakes again. 

His neighbor came up to about his nose. They looked about his age or younger. 

“That was so cool! How did you even get up there?” They interrogated, leaning in and breaching Keith’s comfort zone.  
He wished he had an alarm on his person for situations just like this.

“Um..,” he mumbled, stepping backwards. “I just climbed out the window...”

“That is so awesome!” they squealed. “Do you do parkour? Freerunning? Do you do stunts for movies?” They gasped, then lowered their voice to a whisper. “Are you an assassin?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, yes, no.. and no?” Their shoulders lowered and they sighed.

“Damn. I was thinking you’d be interesting.”

“Did you really think I was an assassin?” he asked, bewildered. This kid was weirder than he thought.

Their face grew red and they shrugged. “Not really, but I was hoping so.” They quickly stuck out their hand. “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Pidge Holt-Gunderson. Nice to meet you, Not-Assassin.”

Keith gave her hand a quick shake. “I do have a name, you know. It’s Keith, Keith Kogane.”

Pidge looked confused. “My dad says that your last name is Shirogane? Was he wrong?”

“No, he’s not,” he replied, used to the confusion. “Shirogane is my cousin’s last name. I live with him, unfortunately.” He huffed. After all, he was the one that had to listen to Shiro’s very long rants about how the latest season of America’s Got Talent has the worst contestants yet and how it used to be better and how he could sing way better than some of the contestants. (Which he couldn’t, by the way.)

Pidge smirked. “He seems nice. My brother is probably way weirder. He’s marathoning old seasons of Here Comes Honey-Boo-Boo upstairs.”

Keith laughed, clutching his stomach. “They’re going to get along so well. We’re doomed.”

He was joined in laughter by Pidge, who removed their glasses to wipe them off.

“Keith!” Shiro called from the front door. “Curfew!”  
Keith looked at him, confused. Since when did he have a curfew? It’s not like he ever left the house anyway. Oh wait, that must have been Shiro-code for “I want to talk.”

He waved goodbye to Pidge and went back into his own house. Shiro looked at him with a giddy smile, giving him two thumbs up.

“You made a frie-end,” he borderline sung.  
He was met with a scowl and furrowed eyebrows.

“Curfew? Really? Out of all the excuses in the world,” he groaned, “you picked that one.” Pidge is gonna think I’m so lame, he thought, before reminding himself that he definitely doesn’t care about what others think and Pidge can think whatever they want.

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Excuse? I’m giving you a curfew. Be home by 9:00 sharp. 10:00 on weekends.” He tapped his watch. It indeed was 9:00 on a weeknight.

“Shiro!” he whined, “I don’t leave the house anyway!”

“No offense, Keith,” the young man reasoned, “but you have a history of getting yourself into trouble when it’s dark out.” Keith frowned, obviously disagreeing. Shiro pulled out his phone. “I have a list.” He cleared his throat and began reading.

“You sold catnip to a classmate and told them it was weed. You’ve been in a total of 16 fights, all of which ended with you in the emergency room. Once you texted me a picture of you covered in fake blood with the caption ‘help’ and almost sent me to an early grave via coronary. You set a shed on fire and killed my turtle-“

“By accident!”

“Irrelevant. You were caught planting fake UFO parts in your biology teacher’s yard. You gained a bad habit of going cow-tipping at inconvenient times. Gambling over a street Beyblade fight is still gambling and I will not stand for it. You attended a Civil War reenactment wearing heels and a leather jacket and slapped the Confederate drummer boy. Theft at a grocery store still counts as theft even if you work there. You tried to run away from home to search for mothman. Twice. You like Running in the 90’s unironically and I will not accept that. You convinced a classmate that you were a werewolf by howling at the full moon every month for half a year out of sheer spite. I let you go out for karaoke with Rolo one time and you came back wearing a ball gown, a sombrero and loopy on what I hope was benadryl—”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Keith shouted, raising his hands in an “I surrender” motion. 

“Really? I have three more pages of this-“

“No, no,” he insisted. “I’m fine. Curfew. Good. Got it. Best thing to ever happen to me.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. Finally Shiro, ever the supporter of the Get-Keith-to-Socialize Brigade, wanted him to stay at home. Plus he was getting tired anyway, and curfew was always a good excuse to hit the hay early without being judged.

Shiro stretching out his arms. “Goodnight hug for your favorite person?” Instead he received a flick to the forehead.

“Over my dead body,” Keith smirked, heading up the stairs. 

He entered his room yet again, closing the door behind him. Opening his drawer, he popped some melatonin for his insomnia and changed into his boxers. It was hot, damn it. Shutting all the blinds and turning off his lights, he looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, arranged accurately according to the sky. Keith had long memorized the constellations and the stories that went along with them. He gazed up at Pegasus. That had always been his favorite. When he was little he dreamed of riding one, of taking off into the sky. Even after being told that they weren’t real, little Keith still had hope. 

Nowadays he’d become a strict pessimist, punching himself in the face before life did first. Maybe, he thought, it was time for a little change. God, he was starting to sound like Shiro.

He layed down and closed his eyes, remembering how he and Pidge had connected, and thinking that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad after all.


End file.
